we might as well just f—
by sarsaparillia
Summary: Shadowcat, Avalanche, and the fastidious avoidance of having a relationship. — Kitty/Lance.


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
**dedication**: seriously look what happens to me when I have no internet  
**notes**: I watched the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean this morning.

**title**: we might as well just fuck  
**summary**: Shadowcat, Avalanche, and fastidious avoidance of having a relationship. — Kitty/Lance.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"I have a boyfriend, you know."

He shrugged, dragged on the cigarette between his lips. "Could actually care less, princess."

"This is not—it's not anything. We're just. Doing a thing. I have a boyfriend. You don't like me, anyway."

"Would it matter if I did?" he asked, laughter rasping in the back of his throat, too many years of smoking shitty cigarettes under his belt for anything but.

"No," Kitty said imperiously, and rolled away from him. "Of course not, are you deaf? I've told you, like, three times. _I have a boyfriend_."

"I'm not the one showing up in my ex's apartment, though, am I," he said, and laughed again.

Kitty seethed. "You would be if I gave you a key, asshole. Whatever, I don't need this, Rogue's probably looking for me."

"You're so welcome, princess. See you next week!"

She slammed the door on her way out.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"We are not doing this," she repeated it over and over like a mantra, even as she phased his shirt through his body to get her hands on his chest. "We are so not doing this!"

"Christ, kitten, I hate it when you do that—"

"Shut up, Lance, we are not doing this!"

But then her mouth was on his dick and, yeah, they were totally doing this.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"Would you buy me a star?"

"Hell no."

"Good."

—

.

.

.

.

.

"Jesus, do you know what fuckin' time it is, princes—holy shit, you're crying. You don't cry. Are you seriously crying?"

"Wow, fuck you, too," Kitty said under her breath. She was soaking wet, shivering, lips tinged blue. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, sure," he said, and there was actually something like concern on his face. Kitty wrote it off as a hallucination, even as he was wrapping her up in his comforter and trying (and failing spectacularly) to find a way to turn up the heat. She flopped down on his bed, curled her knees up to her chest, and closed her eyes.

"You awake in there, kitty cat?" Lance asked, a long time later, and she opened her eyes to find him holding a chipped mug in her face. It was steaming thinly, hot to the touch, and exactly what she needed. Chamomile tea.

"I didn't think you knew how to make tea," she said quietly, and took it from him.

"I don't," he said shortly.

"You can sit down, you know," she said, still quiet, and pressed the mug to her mouth. "Oh, wow, you weren't kidding, this is awful. It's pretty hard to fuck up tea, Lance."

"Yeah, well," he said.

"I don't… I don't really know what I'm doing here," she murmured, clutching at the cup tightly. Her ponytail had come undone, and her hair stuck wetly to her face. "I mean. I have a boyfriend, right? I have one. He's a good one, too."

"So what'cha doin' here with me?"

"I told you. I don't know."

There were only inches of space between them, but it felt like miles. Kitty huddled into herself, trying to leech the warmth from the cup. Pyro might have been a psycho, but he would have at least kept her warm. Lance, on the other hand—

—was wrapping his arm around her, and pulling her into the curve of his body.

Okay, that was new.

"I have a boyfriend," she said into his shirt.

"Yeah, and you're in my shitty apartment. What's that say about your boyfriend?"

"That he deserves better than whatever I can give him. I screwed up, Lance."

"What happened?" he asked.

"We nearly died, and all I cared about was getting Kurt out of there. And Rogue. I didn't—I didn't even think about Bobby. And even…" She stopped, took a slow, deep breath. "I don't believe in God, you know that? Like, I really just don't. Atheist Jew, whatever, right? But, like…"

He waited for her to continue.

"But when we were out there, I was praying that I'd get out alive. And that my friends would be safe. And that—that you would be safe, too. I didn't even think about Bobby until later. Who even thinks like that? Who even?"

"Weren't your fault, Kit-Kat."

"Don't try to make me feel better, you lug."

"Work on your insults, and I'll think about it," Lance replied. He took the mug of tea out of her hands. It'd gone lukewarm, or maybe she'd just sucked all the heat out of it, but either way it was tepid and she was still freezing.

"You're, like, the _actual_ worst."

"Love you, too," Lance muttered. "C'mon, lemme in, it's cold out here."

She opened up the comforter and he curled around her, impossibly large and impossibly warm. He arranged himself around her like a particularly affectionate cat, all long limbs and easy grace. He smelled like those terrible cigarettes, too, but it was a smell that instilled calm. Somehow.

"I wish you'd quit smoking," she said into his ear.

"I wish you'd go to sleep," he replied, a sleepy thickness choking up his words.

"_Worst_," she said again. But she wasn't quite ready for sleep yet, though he drifted off faster than she would have thought.

When he was asleep, Kitty kissed him.

Whispered "Thank you."

He would never know, and that was probably for the better.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"What are you afraid of?"

"You."

"Why?"

"Because you're goin' places, Kit-Kat, and I'm not."

—

.

.

.

.

.

"Jean and Scott are getting married."

"So what you're saying is more X-brats."

"Wow, rude, I _am_ one of those X-brats. And, like, technically so are you."

He slung an arm over her shoulders, stuck his nose into her hair. He'd been doing things like that recently, kept touching her absently and watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, and Kitty had frankly no idea why.

But whatever.

It wasn't like she had a boyfriend, or anything.

(She had Lance, but he didn't really count. They had sex, but they weren't dating. It was just easier that way, there was no pressure and no responsibilities and no—no nothing. He hadn't asked, and she hadn't volunteered the information. Just because the fact that Kitty Pryde and Bobby Drake's break-up had been all over the school meant nothing.)

"D'you wanna come?" she asked.

"Don't think your boyfriend would like that so much, princess," Lance drawled, but his face had shut down, and Kitty knew that pushing the subject would only end badly.

She couldn't help it, though.

"I don't think he'd care," she said. "Like, really, you should come, it might even be fu—"

"_No_, Kitty," he said. "You have a boyfriend, remember?"

He _never_ used her full name.

Kitty didn't really know how to respond to that.

"Okay," she said, voice small.

And later, when he kissed her, there was something jagged to the movements. Furious, maybe, like a wounded animal lashing out at whoever was around, even if they were trying to help. She raked her nails down his back, and hopes it hurt.

Because obviously, she thought bitterly, Lance didn't care who she dated as long as she was still in his bed.

Whatever.

Whatever.

Whatever.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"I can't do this anymore."

"What? Lance? Are you okay?"

"Just leave, Kitty. Just go."

"Lance? I don't understand—?"

"For fuck's sake, get _out_!"

So she did.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"You are _so fucking stupid_, Lance Alvers! I can't even believe how fucking stupid you are! God, just—you're the worst, okay?! You're the _actual worst_!"

—

.

.

.

.

.

"That was definitely not your boyfriend."

"Yeah, well, I don't really care what you think, Lance. Not like you're my boyfriend either, right?"

"Kitty, I—"

"Don't say you're sorry, okay? Just—just go away."

So he did.

—

.

.

.

.

.

"C'mon, kitten, breathe. Breathe for me, c'mon, breathe, you're stronger than this. No, no, no, _no_, you aren't gonna die on me, not until we fix this, c'mon Kitty, fucking _breathe_—!"

—

.

.

.

.

.

"You have a boyfriend," he said, two weeks later, desperate with his hands around her waist and trying to hold on. Trying to make whatever it is they were make sense. Trying to let her go and failing badly. Trying and trying and trying, self-loathing the only thing left in his eyes.

He'd almost watched her die, and the only reason he hadn't was because one of the X-brats had staunched the blood flowing freely from her stomach with a cauterizing finger.

Lance had never heard someone scream like that, and the sound of it haunted his nightmares even now.

She looked up at him, mouth curved up softly in a smile. "Yeah, I do."

"Then why are you _here_?"

"Why am I in my boyfriend's apartment? That's kinda a stupid question, Lance, I'm here because I, like, _want_ to be."

"You are _insane_."

"Yeah," Kitty giggled. "But so are you, so it's okay."

"What am I gonna do with you, kitten?" he asked rhetorically.

Kitty very gently patted his face.

"First you're going to kiss me," she told him. "And then we'll take it from there, okay?"

He stared at her for a long time without blinking.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay."

—

.

.

.

.

.

_fin_.

**notes2**: fuck ffn's profanity rules ugh


End file.
